


Despair and Desire

by VampireQueenDespair



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc
Genre: Choking, Despaircest, Domestic Violence, F/F, POV First Person, Sadism, Sister/Sister Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 15:11:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14956989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VampireQueenDespair/pseuds/VampireQueenDespair
Summary: A short drabble from Mukuro’s point of view. Love and despair go together when the one you love is Junko Enoshima.





	Despair and Desire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Despair_mastermind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Despair_mastermind/gifts).



I step into the room, the same as I always do. You’re there, relaxed, calm, cool, as you always are. Nothing shakes you, not really. You go through the motions of it, you pretend to feel, but it’s not real, not like emotions are for others. I don’t care. All I care about is you. You give me a grin when I walk in, a sharp, toothy thing. Someone unaware of your nature might believe it’s friendly. It’s not. It’s a carnivore’s grin, the kind a wolf gets when she sees prey. To others, I’m that wolf. I’m the master huntress that stalks and kills her target without pity. But when I see you, I’m helpless. My stomach bared, my life in your hands. I’m weak, disappointing, useless. I’m worthless, an ugly failure good for only two things. Today, it’s the second.

It’s not long before you order me to strip. I do so mechanically, a soldier obeying her orders. The nearest knife, one I spent hours sharpening to perfection, flys by. It’s only by the wind that I know you took a lock of my hair with it. You didn’t miss on accident. I didn’t block it because I knew you weren’t aiming for the kill. I tell myself that if you were I would. You scream at me for disappointing you again. “Do you have a single ounce of fucking life in you?! Or are you just a goddamn corpse?!”

“I’m sorry Junko.” I apologize, just as I always do. The blush fills my face, just as it always does. Our words don’t tell the true story. Well, yours do. Yours always do. But I love them. It’s how you show your love, I know that. You can’t show it any other way. I show mine by serving. It’s all I’m good for. I try to strip the way you want, I try to move my body the way you like, but the movements are alien to me. The language of dance is one I do not speak, but you do, and seeing it mangled only enrages you further. This time the knife hits me. This time my right ear lobe is split. I ignore it. I ignore the pain, the way I was trained. Not in war, or some battlefield. The way you trained me. When we were four and you shoved me down the stairs. When we were six and set my hair on fire. When we were eight and you beat me for an hour with the riding crop you stole. When we were ten and you discovered the joys of carving. When we were twelve and you beat me bloody for embarrassing you. I’m sorry, Junko. I screwed up. I know I did. I’m a disappointment.

I strip as fast as I can. You’re already nude. Of course you were. Your perfect skin glistens in the light, your pale flesh unmarred by scars or freckles. Every inch of your body is hairless, lasers and electricity making sure of it. You give me a frown, but seem satisfied that the disappointing display is over. You motion to me to come closer, and I know what you mean. Your legs spread. I see my objective. You drown my senses, and I moan your name. “Junko.” It’s a plea on my lips. A plea for you to touch me. You laugh, but there’s no emotion behind it. There never is. When you touch me, I’m in heaven. When you touch me, it makes it all worth it. But I’ll obey even if you don’t.

I crawl between your legs, hoping I look good enough for you. I look up, hoping our eyes will meet. Sometimes, rarely, they do. Sometimes I see something, something rare, something I cannot name. This is not one of those times. Instead, your eyes roll, that look of scorn you show every model you declare is “trying too hard”. I know I am, but there’s nothing I can do. I’m disappointing. The best I can do is my best. If my best still disappoints, I have to try harder. Still, I continue my objective.

I slide my face up to your sex, deeply inhaling your scent. It’s like a drug, one I can never get enough of. The most forbidden of drugs, the one I crave the most, the way you crave when your clothes get tight or your nights become too bogged down in sleep. I lick and probe, nibble and suck, just the way you taught me. I hear that moan, that perfect, beautiful moan. That first moan is like music to me, the song you sing only for my ears. I continue, listening to your gasps and moans. My favorite sound escapes your lips. “Mukuroooo...” you moan, the syllables like fire bursting forth, the last sound stretched out to an ecstatic length. You wrap a hand in my hair and begin to pull. I know the rules. I pull back. If I relent, I abandon my mission. That is unacceptable. I must complete it. I begin to probe more, suck harder, lick faster. My name, once a single moan, now becomes a chorus. Every time I hear the beat of my drum I increase my attack. Every time I do, the moans increase. It’s not long before you’re on the edge, and I happily pull you off. You fall, fast and hard. You squirt on my face as your hand lets go of my hair and I simile. I wait in position for my orders. When you recover, you pat the pillow beside you. I slide up and lay beside you.

“For a disappointment, you give good head. Maybe I won’t kill you later.” You smile, another carnivore smile. I blush and smile back, the smile of a herbivore girl. You smell my weakness. You smell my blood. I don’t care. I love you, even if it kills me.

You gaze at me, your eyes seeing not me but every part of me, disassembling me and reassembling me over and over again in your head. You see who I am without ever looking at me, you see what I am and your revulsion is equaled only by your lust. I am everything you aren’t, sharp edges protecting soft curves, servitude to another despite my power. I’m disappointing, no imagination or class, no style or form, a blunt implement wielded by you but never truly held by you. I am your weapon, your shield, your tool, your sister, your lover.

I gaze back at you, my eyes seeing you but never seeing the parts of you I don’t want to. In your cruelty I see love, in your sadism I see kindness, in your hatred I see desire. I do not seek to know you the way you know me, the way you know yourself. I seek to serve, because when you smile the lights of the world dim and nothing is brighter. When you laugh I grow deaf, the only sound I can still hear. When you cry my name I know you still need me. My voice is a traitor, speaking my greatest weaknesses to you without a second thought.

“Junko? Do you love me?” I ask, feeling like a passenger in my own mind. You turn and give me a look, an unreadable look, before in an instant you climb on top of me. I could stop you. I could disable you. I could kill you. But I will not. Your hands wrap around my throat, squeezing tightly. Those talons, red like flames and blood, dig into my skin. Pinpricks of me form around them, your thumbs digging into my windpipe. I choke and gasp desperately, but I do not struggle. I don’t try to push you away, I don’t try to fight. I feel your wetness dripping on me as I come closer to death, and my own arousal intensifies. It’s a game to you, my life a fun toy to play with and depose of when you’re done. I never know when it will come, when you’ll tire of your favorite plaything. My vision starts to blacken and I wonder if today’s the day, if I’ll be blessed enough to die with you on top of me. Suddenly, however, you let go. Air floods my lungs and my life returns to me. My blood is pounding through my veins, my heart screaming from the adrenaline of death. Despite that I remain calm, gazing up at your cold eyes. Your makeup is perfect, always so, despite the sweat running down your face. I see the emptiness inside you, desperate to be filled with despair.

“Does that answer your fucking question?” You ask me. I nod and you slap me.

“Yes, Junko.” I say. You don’t say anything else.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a gift for Despair_mastermind, who told me I could post it if I wanted to. Although it’s short I’m proud of what it is.
> 
> Edit: KabibiAudioFics did a reading of it, which you can listen to here: http://kabibiaudiofics.net/danganronpa/dangan.html


End file.
